The Return
by The N9nth Doctor
Summary: A quick one-shot about Sherlock's return.


**A little fic I wrote about the return of Sherlock... Its based off of two images I saw on tumblr. As I cannot put them here, I suggest you go to my old blog, multifandom-psycho and search the tag sherlock to see them.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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Dr. John Watson sat quietly at his laptop for the last time. It had been three years since he had last updated this blog, three years since he had seen his best friend, standing on a rooftop. Three years since he had seen Sherlock fall. He had been putting off this task for weeks now, but he knew it needed to be done. Sherlock wasn't coming back, and he knew it. Yet he had renewed his blog site's membership every year, out of some reckless hope that Sherlock could be impossible again, and not be dead. His therapist had told him he needed to do this, to close this part of his life. And she was right, he did.

He browsed the blog one final time, surprised to see a few people were still reading it. As he continued to look, anger welled up inside him. People were talking about how all this time Sherlock was really a lie. They were calling him a fake. It made him furious, the way people acted. No one had known Sherlock like he had. They didn't know how amazing he was, or how real he was. They didn't know.

Almost without hesitation, he clicked a few times, bringing up a final window. 'Are you sure you want to shut down this website? This action cannot be undone.' John hovered the pointer over the yes button, ready to click. taking a deep breath, he sighed. "Time to say goodbye, I suppose." Just as he was ready to click it, however, he thought he heard something behind him. Next thing he knew, one last miracle happened that he thought would never happen. Something he had given up on months ago. "Why are you doing that? I thought you loved that blog." _It was Sherlock's voice._

Watson stood up and turned around so fast the laptop slid to the ground with a loud clatter. He stared, unable to believe what he had seen and heard. "That's impossible." he stammered.

"I think not, Watson. If you can see it with your own eyes, hear it, sense it, it must be accepted as truth. I assure you, I am completely rea-"

Before Sherlock could finish, Watson swung his fist and punched him. Sherlock put has hand to his face, looking at Watson with a steady, even gaze. "Yes, I suppose I did deserve tha-" John swung out and punched him again, on the other cheek. "As well as that."

"_Three years Sherlock!_ _Three years I waited, I pleaded for you to come back." shouted John, his voice displaying obvious anguish. "For three years I tried to convince people you weren't fake, hide from the papers, act like I was fine! And you think you can just walk back in like this! You died! I saw you, right in front of me! You left me for three years, and you expect to just waltz in like nothing ever happened!"_ Watson paused, breathing heavily. There was grief and hurt in his eyes, as well as fury. Sherlock, for once, didn't say anything or make a clever reply about how emotions were senseless. He stood there, hands behind his back, just looking at Watson.

John continued, his voice low and distraught. "Why? Couldn't you at least have told me? Left me a message?" John swallowed, taking a breath. "I cared about you, Sherlock. You were my best friend, the closest I've been to anyone. I trusted you." he whispered, no longer looking at Sherlock but at the floor.

Sherlock didn't say anything for several moments. "I know" said Sherlock quietly. "I had no choice. If I tried to contact you, you would have been killed."

For several moments, there was silence. John looked up finally, staring into Sherlock's eyes. For one of the first times John could remember, he saw sadness and regret. He could see in Sherlock's eyes what he himself might never say. That he was sorry. The anger and grief melted away, and he stepped forward and embraced Sherlock.

A moment later, Sherlock stepped back, an almost playful smile on his face. "On a side note, I noticed you don't have any milk in your fridge." John rolled his eyes. "Yes, I suppose you expect me to get us some?" Sherlock gave him a sort of grin and took his hands from behind his back. In his hands was a jug of milk, the same brand he always bought. "I brought us some milk."

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**Comments and review are appreciated, I love hearing from you guys! let me know what you think!**


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